Their Unfinished Business

by Braun, Jackie

  “Most of the time. I’m glad she’s back. I missed her,” Ali admitted softly.

  “I worried that—” He stopped, shook his head. “Never mind.”

  “No, what did you worry about?”

  “I know you guys didn’t speak for a number of years after I—” He cleared his throat. “Um, we, left. Audra mentioned it when I helped her out with some investment advice after one of her divorces.”

  He fiddled with the place setting in an uncharacteristic show of nerves before glancing up. “I wondered if I was partly to blame for that.”

  “You mean because she left with you?”

  Luke shifted in his seat. “Not with me exactly.”

  “I know. I think I knew that then, even though I was pretty upset with…her.”

  Ali kept her tone neutral and her expression bland, even though what she had actually felt at the time was abandoned and betrayed by two of the people she loved the best. Not that she’d ever really thought they’d had an affair, but both had been so eager to leave Trillium, they’d sacrificed their relationship with Ali to do it. Afterward, neither one of them had been around to help her pick up the pieces from the other’s desertion.

  “Here’s to reunions, then,” Luke said. He hoisted Bradley’s champagne glass to his lips.

  “Luke,” she admonished. “You can’t drink that.”

  He merely shrugged. “I’ll buy the guy another damned bottle.”

  “But it’s Dom Perignon,” she sputtered.

  Over the wide rim of the glass, Luke gave Ali a look that reminded her that money was no longer a concern for him.

  “Drink with me, Ali.” His voice was pitched low and his words sounded as much like a dare as they did an invitation.

  She didn’t reach for her glass. She kept her hands in her lap, fingers knotted together almost painfully.

  He sighed and set the glass back on the table. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” she echoed.

  Why was it her stomach clenched and her heart felt so heavy upon hearing this news? It was what she’d expected. She was glad he was going. Wasn’t she?

  Yet she heard herself ask, “What about your grandmother’s place. You said you wanted to go through her belongings and clear things out.”

  “I’ve handled most of it. The rest can wait a few more weeks.”

  “So, you’ll be back?”

  “Yes. There’s a lot of unfinished business here,” he said, leaving her to wonder if he was talking about the resort, the cottage or their relationship.

  He picked up the champagne saucer and said once again, “To reunions.”

  Lost in his gaze, Ali lifted her glass and surprised them both by drinking to his toast.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LUKE felt restless upon his return to New York. He’d always enjoyed Manhattan. It might also be an island, but it had none of the isolated, laid-back feel of Trillium despite being similar in geographic size. Whether living in a cramped studio near Greenwich Village or a spacious penthouse with a Central Park view, he’d always felt if not at home then at least as settled as he figured someone like him would ever feel. But for the first time in years, he missed that stingy scrap of land jutting from Lake Michigan.

  He told himself it was because he’d sorted through some of Elsie’s belongings during his trip back, packing up the photo albums and some of his grandmother’s other personal effects.

  He’d found pictures of himself as a boy, hair too long, grin just this side of defiant, chip firmly in place on his shoulder. In almost all of the pictures that included him, at least one of the Conlans had been present as well: A lanky-limbed Dane or a sassy Audra. And then there was Ali, ducking shyly away from the camera or batting away Luke’s hands as he attempted to make rabbit ears over her head.

  He’d brought the photo albums back to New York, spending more than a couple of evenings going through them while indulging in a rare midweek cocktail. For the first time in years he let the childhood memories come and he discovered that not all of them were so bad or so bitter.

  Especially the memories of Ali.

  He stumbled across photos of the two of them that his grandmother had taken after they’d begun dating. God, Ali had been beautiful wearing a simple T-shirt and denim cutoffs while helping him wash his Harley in the driveway.

  And sexy as hell in a tomboy sort of way while wiping the dust off her bottom after sliding into third at a high school softball game.

  And smart, he recalled, turning the page and finding a shot of her walking across the stage at the high school clad in a navy robe and mortar board and ready to give her valedictory speech to Trillium’s graduating class.

  He knew now that she had only improved with age.

  She haunted his peace. Out of sight did not mean out of mind when it came to Ali Conlan. At least not now.

  Where once he’d been able to relegate her, and his feelings for her, to the past, he’d had no such luck since his return to New York. Alone in his penthouse with the sounds of the city muted by several dozen stories of steel and glass, he could still hear the hitch in her breath as she’d slid onto his lap, her skin so heated with passion he was surprised they both hadn’t wound up suffering first-degree burns.

  After a week of sleepless nights, Luke finally admitted that mere nostalgia had not caused the unprecedented wave of homesickness that had him yearning to return to Trillium.

  Getting out of bed, he poured himself a drink and then sat at the desk in his den, flipping open one of the photo albums. Ali smiled up at him.

  God help him, but he loved her.

  Still.

  Always.

  It came as quite a shock to realize that, and as an even greater one to figure out that Dane and the rest of the islanders weren’t the only ones who’d felt Luke wasn’t good enough for Ali. He’d felt that way himself.

  In fact, in retrospect, he realized it was a huge part of why he’d left Trillium in the first place, determined to prove his worth. Ali had deserved someone better than the rebellious dreamer he’d been. She had deserved someone as stable and sure-footed and grounded as she was. Someone not tainted by the stench of family scandals. Someone who had not caused Trillium’s matrons to shake their heads and sigh in disappointment and disapproval every time they saw her with him.

  Luke’s thoughts strayed to Bradley Townsend then. He still had nothing on the man, nothing other than what he recognized now as jealousy. If he took that out of the equation, maybe Bradley was just the kind of man Ali needed. Maybe he was the man she deserved.

  After that adumbration, however, Luke tossed back the last of his scotch. Like hell. He’d made something of himself. He had earned people’s respect. Even the islanders who’d once turned their noses up at him were happy now to claim him as one of their own.

  Now he just needed to convince Ali to forgive him for the past and take him back.

  It was then that he wondered: What if he was too late?

  During the weeks after Luke’s departure, Ali kept busy at the resort. Michigan’s spring and early summer had been warm, and despite predictions about less tourist trade in the state, bookings at the resort were up from the year before. In fact, Saybrook’s had posted a No Vacancy sign every weekend since Memorial Day, and occupancy during the week was running just over seventy percent.

  Ali sat at her desk and gazed out her office window. Despite the odd discontent she’d felt in recent weeks, she concentrated on the resort and she was pleased with what she saw. Guests were milling around Saybrook’s neatly manicured grounds. Some perennials were already in bloom, with the bulk of the color coming from newly planted annuals. The resort looked terrific, freshly painted, scrubbed and restored to the elegant glamour of its heyday. She smiled with pride. Saybrook’s was back on the map thanks to some inspired marketing. It was shaping up to be a banner season.

  Yet something seemed to be missing.

  She refused to believe that something actually
might be someone. She’d come too far in her life to let that happen again. Instead she chalked up the dull ache around her heart to stress and nerves. After all, Ali was heading up the resort’s new golf course. Dane and Audra had agreed that since the idea had been hers, she should be the point person. Besides, Ali was the only one of the three siblings who actually played and enjoyed the game.

  Plans for the course’s layout were firming up now that the additional acreage had been purchased and the deed officially turned over to the resort.

  She’d spent the past two weeks visiting competitors’ courses, often playing with Bradley. He was a decent golfer, even if he did cheat, improving his ball’s lie and shaving strokes. She supposed it was because without doing those things she would have beaten him. Some men just couldn’t stand to lose to a woman, although Luke, she recalled, had never had a problem with the fact she could best him at chess three games out of four. The outings proved safe dates, especially since Ali insisted on meeting Bradley at the courses. It made no sense for him to come over on the ferry and pick her up when they would be heading back to the mainland anyway.

  If he sometimes seemed overly interested in the intimate workings of the resort and how the partnership between the Conlans and Luke was set up, she told herself he was just being polite and trying to take an interest in her work. Luke’s unfounded suspicions had poisoned her mind, she decided. Besides, if Bradley had only been interested in the property, the point was moot now that the resort owned it.

  Still, she couldn’t quite discount the doubt she felt that his feelings for her were authentic, even as he hinted he wanted their relationship to deepen and grow. Part of her wanted to break things off. She couldn’t see herself making a lifetime commitment to Bradley. But then that was exactly why she decided to continue seeing him. It was time to stop measuring all the men she dated against the man who’d once claimed he would love her forever.

  Ali shook off that thought now, determined to focus on work. Sorting through the stack of files on her desk, she pulled out four. She had narrowed the list of golf course designers substantially, in part based on their suggestions for how best to put a golf course on an island situated in one of the largest bodies of fresh water on the planet.

  She had a conference call set up with a course designer from California who had been one of the PGA’s hottest players when he’d been on tour. These days he occasionally showed up on the seniors’ circuit, but mostly he concentrated his efforts on building new courses both in the States and abroad. He favored very natural, low-maintenance designs, using existing elements and native flora to enhance play and challenge players. Her fingers were crossed that their initial discussion would go well.

  First, however, she would be phoning Luke to bring him up to speed on the latest developments.

  Most of the communication she’d had with him since his return to New York had been via the Internet. Thank God for e-mail, she thought. She’d kept the messages she’d sent him short, impersonal and professional. She was still burning with embarrassment—not to mention an appalling amount of need—whenever she thought of their kitchen interlude or the way he’d raised his glass to reunions when he stopped at her table in the resort’s dining room that last night. She hadn’t been able to eat a meal in either place since then without growing warm and uncomfortable.

  Luke kept his missives short and impersonal as well, although the way he signed the last several had left her curious. No Luke, no initials. He simply ended them with Yours. Still, he never strayed from business topics. With the exception of the last e-mail in which he’d made a rather interestingly phrased reference to the merits of soft-spike shoes that had left Ali fanning her face afterward and thinking about anything but golf cleats.

  She checked the time, took a deep breath and then dialed his business number.

  “Ali Conlan to speak with Mr. Banning, please,” she said when a receptionist answered.

  “Yes, he’s expecting your call. Just one moment,” the woman said, putting Ali on hold. She didn’t miss the irony that as she waited for Luke to pick up, Faith Hill’s voice sang through the receiver, pleading with the man she loved to let her let go.

  Finally Luke came on the line.

  “Hello, Ali.”

  “Hi.”

  “Missing me?”

  There was a smile in his voice. She pictured him wearing that sexy grin that never failed to send heat shimmying up her spine. But she chose to ignore it, just as she chose to ignore his question.

  “I’m calling with a status report, per your request.”

  “Is that a yes or a no?” he teased.

  Again, she ignored him, launching into a monologue on course designers and an artist’s rendering of the new clubhouse that would be built where the back nine of the golf course ended.

  Afterward, he said, “It sounds like you’ve kept yourself busy.”

  “If we want to have everything in place to break ground next spring and have the course up and running by the next season, I can’t afford to drag my feet.”

  “How are they, by the way?”

  “How are what?”

  “Your feet.”

  “They’re fine,” she replied crisply, even as her pulse revved.

  “Glad to hear it. Anyone…massaging them?”

  “I don’t see how that relates to Saybrook’s new golf course.”

  “Did Bradley wonder about the champagne?”

  “Let’s leave him out of this,” she snapped.

  She wasn’t about to tell Luke that Bradley had indeed wondered why a second bottle and fresh glass had showed up just as he returned to the table. He’d apologized for the length of his absence, but the evening had seemed strained after that. Ali told herself it had nothing to do with Luke or the way he had insisted on helping her put on her shoes before he’d left Saybrook’s dining room. When he passed Bradley on his way out, Luke had paused and turned so that he could send a wink in Ali’s direction. Dressed all in black, he’d reminded her of a cat burglar who’d just gotten away with a multimillion dollar heist.

  She cleared her throat. “Now, about the course—”

  “So, all business, hmm?” he interrupted.

  “That is why you finally made it back to Trillium, isn’t it? Business.”

  “I was sure that was the case,” he replied, but he sounded anything but convinced now.

  “Well, I think that’s for the best.”

  “Do you?” His voice was a seductive whisper that had her thinking about far more than resorts or golf courses.

  Instead of answering his question, she decided to turn it around. “Don’t you?”

  A pause ensued, one so long that Ali wondered if the connection had somehow been lost, but then Luke said quietly, “The only thing I seem to be thinking about these days is that night in your kitchen.”

  She swallowed hard. “Let’s get back to golf.”

  “Probably a good idea,” he conceded.

  “I’m inspecting one of our main competitors later today.”

  “Is inspecting the same as saying you’re playing it?” he asked.

  She laughed, some of the tension uncoiling from her shoulders.

  “What can I say? It’s dirty work, but somebody’s got to do it. I’ve played this particular course a few times in the past. It’s got some challenging doglegs and interesting pin placements on its greens, but I never paid close attention to most of the design details or how the architect incorporated the use of the lake.”

  “You sound like you have a real appreciation for the game,” Luke said. “I didn’t realize you played. In fact, at out first meeting I seem to recall that you said you didn’t.”

  “No, what I said was I didn’t have time for games. I still don’t,” she said curtly.

  “My mistake. So, when did you take it up.”

  “After college.” It was petty, but she felt a small jolt of satisfaction when she added, “I was dating a guy who worked as the golf pro at a cour
se just up U.S. 131 from Petoskey.”

  “Oh? How long did you date?”

  “A few months. Then Tony got a job in Myrtle Beach and moved on.”

  “Did Tony give you many pointers?” Luke asked.

  Perhaps she was just imagining things, but it seemed his voice had turned tight.

  “Enough,” she said. And then she couldn’t resist replying with a double entendre of her own. “He helped me perfect my stroke, although that didn’t take long.”

  Was that a groan she heard?

  “You always were a fast learner as well as a natural athlete.”

  “I enjoy sports. I’ve never been afraid to work up a sweat or push my limits. Of course, golf is more about skill than endurance, and it’s as mental as it is physical.”

  She smiled, because this time she was sure she had heard him groan.

  “That’s been said about other things, too.”

  “Oh?”

  “Like sex.”

  “But we’re talking about golf, Luke,” she reminded him, even as heat pooled low in her body.

  “Are we, Ali?”

  “We are.” Her tone was unequivocal, but she had to balance the telephone receiver on her shoulder so that she could twist open the bottle of chilled water that sat on her desk blotter.

  “Then come to New York.”

  “What?” she asked, the bottle poised before her parched lips.

  “There’s a course here I think you should inspect. I’ll come with you. Maybe we could even play for…skins.”

  The interlude in her kitchen snapped front and center in her mind. “Luke, that’s not a good idea.”

  “You told me that one of the designers under consideration is Lou Fozzella. His signature course is fifty minutes outside Manhattan.”

  “But, I can’t—”

  “Look, Ali, as the investor of a significant sum of money in Saybrook’s, I don’t think my request is out of line. You can fly in on Friday, spend a couple days in Manhattan with me. Then you can go home. Strictly business,” he promised, although something in his tone left her wary.

  She sputtered half a dozen other protests, all of which he overruled. The last thing Luke said before hanging up was: “I’ll send my private jet to pick you up.”